


Change of Seasons

by Sorkari



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Historical, Eventual Romance, Good Uncle Kenny Ackerman, Historical References, Levi's got it bad you guys, M/M, Mild Language, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Painter Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Period Typical Attitudes, Religious Discussion, Shipbuilder Levi, Some Humor, Time Skips, Whaler Eren
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-08 05:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12857856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorkari/pseuds/Sorkari
Summary: As a quiet, dissenting painter, Levi wasn't happy in gray, noisy Portsmouth. Everything was the same; wake up, build a ship, sleep, repeat. That only varied every three months when he sold his paintings near the beach and, conveniently, when the whalers came home. It's never been interesting until now, though, when there's a new green-eyed whaler in the industry.





	1. Spring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaptainReina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainReina/gifts).



> guess who's working on 20 WIPS instead of updating his current ones lmao
> 
> A gift for someone very special to me. Given, it's the wrong love story, but that gives me an excuse to write them 20 more stories that aren't dark or unnecessarily gory.
> 
> Here's some historical context for the fic, if you're interested:
> 
> This takes place around mid-18th century Portsmouth, New Hampshire, in a time where it's both too early for societal revolution and too late for political damages on both sides to be reversed. Meaning, there's still colonies, there's still an abundance of Puritans, and there's still open rebellion against Britain.
> 
> Historically, whaling trips, ranging from the smallest to largest ships, take anywhere between 6 months to 4 years to complete, with the longest whaling trip taking 11 years. The ships Levi builds would be the ones taken on those 3-4 year trips. Y'all tripping if you think I'm gonna separate Levi and Eren for that long, though, so in this universe, it's a much more laid back 3 months.
> 
> The Congregational Church was the official church of New Hampshire. After reading bits and pieces of the New Hampshire Constitution and taking the effects of the Salem Witch Trails (nearly a century prior) into consideration, I deemed it legal not to attend church, though that did elicit some sort of hostility and doubt from a few if done without a valid reason. And, of course, what fits under a "valid reason" is very limited.
> 
> This isn't meant to rewrite history in any way, nor will this be a history textbook. References to Britain and historical events are minimal, vague, and kept in the author's notes, if there comes a time or two where it's necessary. It's just shipbuilder, part-time painter Levi and whaler Eren falling in stupid love in a time when everything is grim and dull, and aggressively opposing parliament mattered more than love did. Every chapter is a new season.

When the nebulous heavens above would start to glow and illuminate the world below them, the birds would start to sing. They were only muted calls, usually, ones that Levi wouldn't be able to hear through the layers of hemp that surrounded him when he slept. Unless, of course, the windows were open, and the sounds of gentle, warbling calls were accompanied by a chill that men associated with the cruel tendrils of death.

So when he felt the breeze run its fingers through his hair and whisper in his ear, he instinctively nuzzled further into his blankets. He was barely holding on to the slumber that took him, grasping at threads to fall back to sleep, but another breeze came and sealed his fate. With a frustrated huff, he rose on his elbows, peeking up from the heavy covers, and saw in the midst of his blank, hazy mind that the window was open, and the sky above was faintly glowing from shielded sunlight.

The violent morning chill met him when he threw his blankets aside, and he wished so desperately that he could sleep. When he descended the stairs into the main room, he coerced himself to refrain from closing the window above the dining table, given that the fireplace was void of wood and it was his only source of light. It was only covered in ash from last night when he had trudged home, hung his coats on the wall, and threw himself in bed without even bothering to close his door. That was his mistake, he supposed, since it was typically his responsibility to replace the firewood. Shivers wracked down his spine. He'd have to return early that day to cut timber before dark.

Later, after he broke his fast with jam and slices of their diminishing loaf, he emerged from the cabin in his usual attire of gray, scratchy coats and a white vest that mirrored the pallid complexion of his skin. In his arms was a crate, heavy with twenty or so thin woolen canvases. To his right, his uncle sat rocking idly in his chair, a lit pipe in one hand and another filled with seeds to offer to the woodcock that hopped along the ledge of wood that surrounded the porch. Conveniently, there was also timber stacked along the wall just a few feet away from him, topped with a rusted axe.

Kenny greeted with a sly grin, "Morning."

"Bastard," Levi griped.

He could hear his uncle's bark of a laugh over the squelch of mud under his boots. The sight of his footprints in the muck sent a shiver down his spine, one far more unbearable than that of the cold, and he made an effort to scrape the mud off the best he could on the stones. The cruel fingers of disgust that gripped him by the neck gradually faded as he made his way down the dark road, where the trees swayed in the wind and the birds called to one another. The end of this path marked the beginning of Kenny's land - and, inevitably, Levi's land, once death called Kenny home - which was identified by the obvious line between pure, generally untouched forestry and tall, grim buildings.

Church bells rang in the distance. Their echoing calls loomed over Levi's shoulders, but he disregarded it, as did the rare few merchants he spotted lifting their curtains and dusting their windows. The city wasn't regularly busy on the Sabbath, but that day was a different day. There were more than the businessmen that rushed down the streets, or the women who purchased the week's bread, or the children who rolled hoops down the streets together. Many families, typically those of the younger seamen, gathered around the ports, sometimes even paced impatiently along the pier, and waited for their loved ones.

It was the third Sabbath of March, a day before the year rolled into spring, and the day the whalers returned home.

Those were the breadth of Levi's customers; the whalers and sometimes the fishermen, and conveniently, their wives and children, who all took a liking to the bright, vivid colors of his paintings. He had attracted many different kinds of customers throughout the years, typically those who were younger, who were more open minded, who were quiet dissenters and brilliant students. He eventually built his own stand, which would stay barren for three months at a time, at the mouth of the largest pier. No one payed it any mind, thankfully, as the docks were often thrumming with business of varying sorts, when none had time to pay it any mind.

While setting up, families and workers alike poured in. Then came the whaling and fishing ships themselves; they were all vast ships that moved slowly across the water, ones that gradually halted with low, echoing moans of straining wood that rung in Levi's ears. Salty water splashed up onto the floorboards as the anchors fell and sunk into the abyss below, where they would stay smothered until the ship was picked clean and the seamen returned for another trip east.

Over time, customers came and went, most of which would look, admire, then leave, which elicited a faint, quiet anger. If anything, Levi would set up a gallery with the amount of browsing and the significant lack of buying, but by the end of the day, he would be left with only five or six of the initial twenty or so that he brought. It was a different feeling altogether, parting with his works, watching people run their disgusting hands over them and either put them back or take them away.

He remembered filling each one, remembered the dull, tacky smell of the paint jars when he twisted them open, and the way the dark, thick colors would swirl and dissolve into lighter hues and gentler tones when he mixed them into water. He remembered the way the paints would sink into the threads of cotton, mix with one another, produce deep velvets and bright oranges and soothing pinks that would breathe as much life into him as he would into them.

They were only memories, though; it was a nice pastime, but not as rejuvinating as it used to be, not as stimulating as it was mind-numbing now.

Mind-numbing or not, there were certain things that he couldn't quite desensitize himself to, nor ignore as he did with everything else, only ever responding to inquiries on the price or actual exchanges. There weren't many remarkable things in Portsmouth. It was gray, cold, and dead. It was nothing new, nothing particularly engaging, nothing that Levi wanted to be involved with, nor anything that drew his attention.

There were many people that Levi saw every day. Faces never stuck, because they were all the same, all cold and dead, all the same gray and harsh blue of the frigid sky above. The man before him was no different in that aspect, with cracked lips, frayed sleeves, and fingers scratchy and stony from handling the ropes that formed intricate webs on the ships.

But dear God,  _his eyes._

Levi licked his chapped lips, realizing how dry his mouth had gone.

They were large, almost protuberant, and lit with the fire of a divine sort of youth, of vigor, of a vehemency that Levi typically recognized in the younger fishermen. Except, unlike most of the other men, whose eyes were a bland, stony gray like Levi's, or a dark, mundane brown of the general population, this man's were bright. So bright that, even when Levi only glanced for a few seconds, he could see the speckles of gold that swam within the ocean of jade green.

Those large eyes, far more enrapturing than any foamy ocean side, than any giant beauty he had ever sent out to sea, focused on a canvas to Levi's right. The man's brows, seemingly stuck in an angry furrow, finally softened.

Something melted in the pit of Levi's stomach when the man asked, "What do you call this beauty?"

His voice was robust with hard work, and equally as vigorous as the fire that raged in those enrapturing eyes of his. It betrayed him, however, with its boyish rasp. Of course he was embarrassingly young - and foreign, Levi assumed, judging by the harshness of the accent that lingered in the subtle roll of his tongue. There weren't many sailors that were so lively, so different, so  _happy._

Whatever fascination Levi felt at such a rare sight was smothered as he skeptically inquired, "You've never seen a pheasant?"

"Pheasant," the boy repeated to himself, softly, curiously. Levi was right to assume he was foreign. "Do these creatures fly?"

As the boy leaned down closer to inspect the painting, Levi saw the thin, yet remarkably strong shade of forest green that burned into the lining of his irises.

"They do," he murmured, and the boy lit up. "but not often. They tend to just run like hell."

The fire in his eyes sparked. "They  _run?_ " The thought seemed to fascinate him. "Don't they swim?"

Levi wasn't sure whether he was serious or not, but eventually, the lack of any sort of amusement on the boy's countenance brought a surge of annoyance. He leaned forward a bit, the chair beneath him creaking, and pointed to the thin legs of the bird. Lower, towards the grass, were equally thin toes and gracefully curled talons.

"Do they look like they fuckin' swim to you?"

A noise left his lips, soft and seemingly choked off, as if taken aback at the abrupt deadpan. He straightened up a bit, but oddly enough, there was no threatening roll of the shoulder or clench of the jaw. Instead, he looked thoughtful, the tilt of his head revealing a strong jawline that was traitorous to his youthful mask.

Genuine wonder was evident in his countenance when he offered with a small hum, "Any animal can swim if their life depended on it, though. They're not all mindless beasts, right?"

Truth be told, Levi was quite taken aback by the response. Whatever expression he made must have frightened the boy, because that expression, that light in his eyes that would typically accompany the pleasure of answering a complicated question correctly, faltered quickly. His voice, previously confident and eager, was cumbersome with meek hesitance as he questioned, "Or do you not agree?"

Levi briefly wondered why there was a slight twinge in his chest at the loss of such a beautiful fire. "I do agree." The wave of relief nearly elicited a sigh when he saw the boy smile. "I don't, however, agree with you standing here asking me stupid ass questions as if it's a gallery. Don't waste my time. Are you buying or not?"

"Oh!" The boy reached into his pocket and produced a small leather pouch. "I'll take -" Suddenly, he stopped, turning his head over his shoulder towards the distant, high ringing of iron chains scraping against the metal linings of the ship. "Well. You'll save this for me, yeah?"

_The arrogance!_

"It'll be the first painting I sell,  _boy._ " He halted. Of course the emphasis on 'boy' grabbed his attention, of all things. "I hold no reservations. Whoever comes by and wants it will get it, given they pay the right amount."

The angry furrow that had previously melted away returned. He had already spun on his heel, however, and was already distracted towards the beacon's ringing call, but he threw back angrily, "Well, if I'm just a boy, then you're an old wretch." A few steps later, he paused, then spitefully added, "And your bird is  _fat!_ "

A short, amused breath left Levi's lips, puffing out before him in a white cloud. He watched the boy march off, only lingering long enough to see him remove his hat and tuck it under his elbow upon greeting another young man.

The tangled mess of brown that hung down to his shoulders was revolting.

* * *

Oddly enough, the beginnings of Spring were marked by the inexplicable drop in temperature.

That didn't stop Levi from roaming outside in the forest, a small basket in hand, and a pouch of seeds sitting within it. He went about his usual route, finding a few feathers along the way. Most were those of a pheasant, long and tapering, fading off from a strong, red-tinted bronze at its base to a delicate white at the tip.

A long time ago, he had felt an ounce or so of guilt for abandoning work in favor of retrieving feathers in the forest, but after awhile, he realized that it didn't matter. That was another thing he enjoyed about the changing of seasons; the following Monday tended to be extremely slow, and naturally, with the slowed workflow and the lull in productivity on the day following the whalers' return, Levi didn't bother wasting his time.

He also didn't want to waste time at that moment, not when the skies above were darker than usual, broodier than they had been days prior. Soon, a storm would be raging overhead, and all the feathers would be lost.

But that wasn't something to worry about anymore. There were more pressing matters now, the most dire being the soft sound of metal scraping against metal. It was faint, almost imperceptible in the forest at this time of day, but it called to him like a beacon in angry waters. Not too far away, out of his usual path marked by the absence of wildlife, a man crouched hidden behind the bushes.

In his hands, aimed perfectly out into the clearing to an oblivious moose, was a musket.

A few feathers dropped from Levi's basket as he rushed forward and knocked the musket out of focus. It still fired, its roar echoing throughout the forest, deafening enough to stop the world in its tracks. The moose bolted the other direction, and Levi found himself being shoved aside in momentary alarm.

A familiar voice started, "What the absolute -"

Something in Levi twisted when his eyes met raging, lively green. That boy, that same arrogant boy just a day prior who had disappeared in the sea of whalers, seemingly never to be heard of again until next season - or, if he was unlucky, until the funeral - suddenly stood up, stumbling just a bit as he did so.

He slung the musket over his shoulder, sounding astonished as he dumbly announced, "You're the painter. From yesterday."

Heat surged in Levi's blood.

"Yes, and you're the shitty brat that insulted both me and my work." He lurched forward and grabbed the boy's collar, relishing in the surprised yelp and the muted thud of the musket dropping to the floor. "This is private property," Levi growled, "and you dare come in and attempt to kill an animal on our soil without permission?"

The boy desperately clutched and tugged at his wrists, spluttering, "I - I didn't know, I swear it! I -"

"Wield arms on our land again and nothing on God's green earth will ever be able to find you. Do you understand?"

The boy nodded vigorously, and with that, Levi shoved him backwards onto the ground. He scrambled up to his feet again, clutching his musket and holding it close to his chest, but he didn't dare point it at Levi.

Instead of running like Levi expected, he cleared his throat and offered breathlessly, "I'm sorry." Levi took a step forward, and immediately, he took four steps back. "I mean it! I do! I'm sorry."

The anger that filled Levi's veins with white-hot fire was dying rapidly. In previous encounters, long ago when he had first moved onto this land, there were men who dared to challenge him, men who had even attempted to murder him in their outrage. Those situations would end badly - for them, of course, but Levi didn't like the soreness in his knuckles, nor the crushed plants beneath them afterwards. This boy was vastly different in a way that was genuinely confusing.

"If you're sorry, you'll turn around and never come back into this forest."

The lack of any real malice in his voice eased some of the tension in the boy's posture. "Yes, but . . . it's a lovely forest."

Levi rolled his eyes. "Lovely forest or not, I won't hesitate to beat you if you press the boundaries. Take your musket and leave."

He found himself under the hard gaze of those large eyes, as if they were searching, pondering, before the boy asked with a small grin, "With what? Your basket?"

"You fuckin' -"

The boy jumped out of his reach with a laugh. It didn't sound as if it had been done in a mocking gesture, however, and when Levi looked up from his now empty basket, the boy certainly didn't convey any cruel scrutiny on his face. He sounded genuine. _Excited,_ as if it was a game.

Levi noticed, past the perfect smile and brilliant eyes, that the hair that previously framed his face was shorter, and the tangled mess that sat upon his shoulders was gone. It was no longer revolting, but enticing. The urge to touch arose.

Another step forward, and the boy was gone, taking Levi's breath with him.

* * *

Besides the brief inquiry about the gunshot, Levi didn't talk to his uncle that day, nor the next. Instead, he spent most of his time locked away in his bedroom, pacing back and forth, dipping his brush in the paint jars and then drowning them in water when he continuously changed his mind.

Infuriatingly enough, his brush always hovered over green. Bland, boring green, that lacked creativity, that lacked vigor. His muse insisted on it, however, so after long moments of pondering ways to wash out the green, he abandoned the canvas with an angry huff.

He considered it a day wasted.

The rest became a blur; it was his routine, the consequence of his oath to hard labor. Wake up to the cruel talons of the cold weather, walk down an old path, lay down his blueprints on an old table, rebuild the same old ship unless he discarded the plans in favor of creating a new one, a better one. It was also infuriating that, while he peered out into the docks, where men walked upon the skeleton of the ship with tools and more wood, he didn't see green.

It was bland, boring  _gray_ , not bright, beautiful green.

The only time the gray changed was when it dimmed into an inky black once the sun dipped over the clouded horizon. By the time he returned home, with blueprints tucked under his arm and his front covered in sawdust, the sun had fully set, and the porch was illuminated with a soft, gentle light from the inside where the fireplace burned strong.

Heat welcomed him when he entered the cabin, and immediately, fatigue clamped down on his shoulders and pulled him to the earth with its weight. He ignored dinner and the coat hanger, reluctantly stopping when he heard his uncle call out from his seat in front of the fireplace, "Oi, kid. Your friend came by earlier."

Levi turned, mumbling, "What?"

Kenny shrugged. "He said you owed him a pheasant."

Levi didn't bother responding before he ascended the stairs to investigate. Something fluttered in his stomach when he saw that the painting was gone, and in its place, a pouch of shillings and a handful of feathers that he thought he lost in the storm yesterday.


	2. Summer

"A shipbuilder  _and_  a painter? That's uncommon."

Levi was surprised that he even recognized the voice, and he wasn't sure whether it was a relief or a headache. It was rough, almost boyish, and lightly weighed by an accent that, if Levi hadn't known any better, would call it unnervingly foreign through country rather than colony. He didn't bother looking up from the blueprints before him on the desk, faded to a cold gray similar to the broody sky above and streaked with sawdust.

"Uncommon," Levi idly repeated, a small, insignificant murmur that was nearly drowned out by the hiss of the foamy ocean that crawled up the mouth of the beach.

Surprisingly, the boy heard him, responding, "It is! But it's also impressive. Have you heard of a shipbuilder who was also conveniently an artist of some sort? Uncommon, those. They're the ones who build the best ships, I hear." Genuine wonder was embarrassingly evident in his tone when he asked, "Do you like building ships?"

Levi looked up at the boy who, at this angle, where he was hunched over the table with a quill in his hand, towered over him. Virid eyes regarded him, inquiring with their protuberance. Even with a face enveloped in a frigid shade and his skin nearly a stony gray from the weather, they were brighter than the sun when it finally peeked through the murky skies, brighter than any glistening ocean front Levi had ever seen. It took an embarrassingly long time for him to process the question, finally hearing it through the hushing whispers from the sea that washed away every thought from his mind and left him with nothing but bright, bold, beautiful green.

There was no real way to answer the question, Levi supposed, when he stared down at the blueprints that called for wood, for technique, for meticulous attention.

There was beauty, of course, but with that beauty came pain. The pain of trudging through the cold, of ocean spray on his face and in his throat, of bruised shoulders and arms from the weight of the wood if they were not patient enough to make multiple trips from the supply house to the beach. Then there was the actual process of building her, where even the slightest mistake could send her to the bottom of the ocean, and every loose rope or offset belt of wire could leave her stranded in the middle of nowhere, subject to any cruelty the abyss may inflict upon her.

The outcome was astonishing, though, and worth the effort they put to bring her to life.

There was beauty in the ropes that intricately lined the sides and the sails as if spun by a widow, in the glisten of the metal when the ocean graced it with spray, in the groan of wood and iron pulling together against the wind that sent it surging forward. Levi was undeniably proud of his work - enervated, surely, but  _proud_.

"I don't regret this, if that's what you mean."

Pale lips turned upright, not quite a smile, but not a grimace, either. "No?" When Levi straightened up, he saw that the boy's attention was turned to the ship that had pulled into the harbor not even two days prior, where men scraped at the barnacles that had latched onto her belly. "You never think about how different things would be if you had options?"

"Everyone has options, because everyone has equal opportunity. On this land, at least," Levi responded. A child-like wonder replaced the grimness that had set over the boy's face, smoothing out the features that, just a few seconds prior, made him appear much older than he was, much older than he had the right to be. "Some options are just harder than others, because 'equal opportunity' doesn't mean 'equal privilege.'"

"That's one way to put it," the boy laughed, and it sounded lively,  _happy_. It made Levi's head spin. "Say, you never did tell me your name."

It took a moment for Levi to process the prompt, and he answered softly, "Levi."

He was taken aback by the hand that was thrust towards him. He took the boy's hand, melting at the ridiculous heat that radiated from his stony skin. Any youth that had been implied by the boy's viridity and enrapturing eyes was betrayed by the firm, robust grip that no boy could possess. His chest fluttered and his mind blanked, filled with glittering ocean spray and foamy, hissing waves rolling along the sand.

He nearly missed the cheerful voice that said, "I'm Eren! It's really nice to meet you."

"Pleasure," Levi returned weakly.

Eren finally let go, the warmth that pulsed in his hand with every strong heartbeat immediately smothered with the cold. Levi clenched his fist in his pocket, but the dull scratch of hemp against his cracked knuckles and his nails scraping against his roughened palm only made the frigid emptiness in his hand worse.

"Introductions aside, I think I'm done interrupting your work."

Levi's immediate response, if he had not known any better, would have been to reassure Eren that his presence was no displeasure, to disregard the white, dusty pile of wood a few feet away that was to be taken to the beach to complete the skeleton of a ship. Instead, he removed the paperweights and allowed the blueprints to curl in on themselves, gathering them in his arms and clasping them shut with a rubber band. Sawdust rained from the cylinder as he held it at his side, the speckles on his shoe eliciting an irritated, revolted twitch in his brow.

"About time," Levi griped. "You'd think people would learn to leave the shipbuilders alone when repairs need to be made."

A small, nearly imperceptible noise left Eren's lips at the response. "Oh." Levi fought the urge to curse at the dejected demeanor Eren held. Surprisingly, that demeanor brightened, elated as he stated, "If it bothered you that much, you would've said something. You're a surprisingly honest man."

 _Honest_.

What a funny word.

_Honest._

Levi couldn't contain the snort that arose. "Oh,  _yes_ , I'm quite an honest man."

"Well,  _I_  think you are!"

The emphasis, Levi assumed, was supposed to make a point, though all it did was bring forth the urge to roll his eyes. There was a sort of guilt that weighed down on his shoulders at the genuine, yet false compliment. It slithered past his clavicles to gradually sink its claws into his chest, as if waiting to clutch and twist, and it would surely do so should he let it sit there, fester, and then spring to action when, inevitably, he proved Eren wrong. Honesty wasn't something Levi was familiar with.

It was considered heretical.

_Dangerous._

He deadpanned, "You don't even know me."

"I - Well -" A petulant pout took Eren's lips and, subsequently, Levi's shuddering breath. "That's why you prove me wrong."

Levi's brow furrowed. The challenging glint that raged in those virid eyes demanded a rebuttal, one of which he was incapable of forming, for some reason. There was no pleasure in watching any sort of light flicker and disappear from Eren's eyes, from the windows that peered straight into his soul, that could hide absolutely nothing from anyone, least of all Levi. And he could see the demand for veracity that stood within them.

All he could offer was a pathetic question; "And incriminate myself?"

"Exactly. You wouldn't like to tarnish your own name, would you?" The brief flash of annoyance Levi felt must have made itself present on his countenance, judging by the wide, victorious smile that brought back every flag that signaled youth and vigor to Eren's features. "So, yes, you are an honest man, unless you prove me otherwise."

And for the first time in what felt like a wasted eternity, like a dragging, lifeless eon, Levi refrained from shooting down the compliment.

* * *

It had only been a few days, and by default, most things faded away in Levi's mind, washing away with the hissing waves of the ocean and sinking into the abyss of routine. The Sabbath tended to be included in the abyss, where he could explore, paint, invent (if he had the right inspiration), and then fall asleep to a cozy cocoon of hemp, only to be awaken by the nails of a cold breeze running down his back in a cascade of shivers when it was time to work again.

For a long time, after dressing in his casual attire, he stood in front of his desk and stared at the bottles of paint that were lined on his desk in the colors of the spectrum. He wasn't quite sure what called to him, but even so, the blank canvas stared at him, enticed him with its glistening innocence. It was a different feeling altogether to breathe life into a canvas, into something so blank, so pure, so lifeless until it soaked in the paints and became something extravagant.

Sometimes, there was red, and the canvas would catch fire from the very first stroke. A raging fire would sink its claws through it, glow brighter than any furnace he had ever seen. The brush would burn, the wool would burn, his arms would burn with angry colors until later, much later, after his nails were caked in fire, after his apron was slashed right through, an amaryllis stood tall, its eye a vigorous yellow that pierced through the canvas and into the viewer.

Other times, there was blue, and the canvas would wash away into the depths of the cold abyss. Each stroke was the clash of waves from an angry ocean against a cliff side, the water dripping off each groove of the rocks to polish them until they shined white in the moonlight. The wool would drown, the brush would splash, his hands would be stained with the deep blue at the eye of an underwater trench until later, much later, the violent wrath of the ocean reared its ugly head and opened its gaping mouth to swallow a small, defenseless ship.

Then there times this, times where there was green. Except there wasn't life to give, nor a story to create; Levi's brush pressed against the center of the canvas, marring it with a blob of dark green, and his hand stilled. Eventually, he withdrew the brush.

Green.

_Green, of all colors -_

On his chair, a basket sat filled with feathers, the most prominent ones being the feathers of a pheasant.

_Green._

What was there to do with _green_  when he associated it with all the wrong things? What was there to do with cool, gentle green, when all he wanted to do was build a fire from it, allow it to soak up its surroundings, devour everything that moved, until something reigned, wondered, craved, _lived?_

The knock on his bedroom door saved him from his fate.

He abandoned the canvas, now marred with irreversible damage, and answered the door. Levi looked up at his uncle, who smelled heavily of tobacco and had his scratchy blanket of hemp draped over his shoulders. Smoke escaped from his lips in thick, wispy ribbons that curled and disappeared into the air, following those that leaked from his lit pipe.

Kenny warned softly, "There's someone at the door for you, kid. He don't look too happy."

Levi stepped back into the dark recess of his room and removed his apron, the heavy footsteps of his uncle marked with every tortured groan of the floorboards as he slowly made his way down the hallway towards his own bedroom. Outside his room, the hallway and the staircase was lit fairly well by the windows alone. Levi assumed it was midday.

He entered the main room, ridiculously hesitant for a man in his own home, only to abruptly stop in his tracks. At the smooth scrape of skin against wood, a boy - a  _man_  with brilliant eyes suddenly stood from his spot on the couch, swaying ever so slightly.

"Levi," Eren breathlessly called, a bit dazed, unsure of what to say. "I -" Pink chased away the dusty gray that plagued his face, that made him pallid and lifeless and  _dull_. He lifted his arm, where the rich, navy blue of his coat was darkened black and clung to his skin. "Well, I - you see -"

"Yes, I see," Levi responded, a bit surprised at his own impeccable deadpan. "Why you decided to walk all the way up here for bandages is beyond me, though."

"That wasn't . . ."

The blush on Eren's face deepened as he trailed off, and the fire in those eyes were promptly directed anywhere and at anything but Levi. He looked extremely out of place like this, in an enclosed area where there was no wind, no salt, no glittering spray. Levi wasn't sure how to move, how to speak, how to even think past the disorganized whispers in his mind. All that mattered was that Eren was standing there, in his home, right in front of him, and it seemed so surreal.

He stepped forward, unthinkingly reaching, touching, and suddenly, virid eyes were focused on him, scrutinizing him with their vivacious intensity, setting flame to his chest as his heart skipped. His hand gripped Eren's, the other pulling the sleeve down, and Eren's hand suddenly tightened around his. Breathing suddenly became a laborious task.

Curled over his forearm in long, intricate ribbons lay three lacerations, the slit-like beginnings of them starting curved from the inner wrist. Blood stained the skin around them where the cloth clung, tinting his tanned forearm a delicate crimson. Levi led him over to the kitchenette, promptly demanding, "What the absolute hell did you do?"

There was no immediate answer. Levi didn't mind that there was no response to be given, but an unnecessary weight bore down upon his shoulders at the way Eren's demeanor darkened. The dark shadows of shame lurked in his eyes, where someone had wiped out the smoldering remains of a campfire that had crawled long into the night with a bucket of water. He returned with a small trunk in one hand and a bowl of water in the other. As he set them on the table, he saw that Eren had removed his coat and rolled the sleeve of his shirt up to his shoulder.

Tan skin, darker than Levi had ever seen in any colonial man, was all the more evident in the bright light that shone through the window. It complimented his hair, covered muscles toned with hard work, made his eyes all the more apparent, and it was absolutely  _stunning_. Levi would touch if he could do so with impunity.

Levi rolled his own sleeves up to the elbow, grabbing and twisting the towels he had submerged in the bowl of water and bringing it to Eren's forearm. It was a comfortable silence, one that was filled with the dripping of water and the rattling of the contents of the trunk as Levi rummaged through for the correct salves and bandages. During this time, Levi took the liberty to stare. In the sunlight, weak but still satisfactory given the time of day, ribbons of gold shined in an intricate web around Eren's pupils.

Then suddenly, those eyes were on him, burning into his own. Levi regained some semblance of control. His movements were mechanical, face inscrutable, insouciance thankfully saving him from judgement. Or at least he assumed he appeared nonchalant, for the most part; another blush rose to Eren's cheeks, a small stutter evident when he started, "Well . . . to answer your question, I. . . . I thought I'd gather feathers. As an apology. For, you know . . ."

The last of the salve had been applied to the wounds, the skin glistening pink around them, glowing a delicate rose as it delved deeper. "Gather feathers?" It took a moment to consider the evidence. Levi incredulously asked, "Did you - did you fucking  _pluck_  them?"

Eren petulantly averted his eye, staring once more out the window and into the pale gray sky. Levi retrieved the bandages when it became evident that he would not be given a response from such a harsh demand. A small sigh left him at the pain of the weight that had been dropped onto his chest, chilling it beyond his care. Levi somehow felt Eren tense when he took his hand, nearly imperceptible as he brought it closer, guiding the divinely white band of cotton around his forearm.

The delicacy of the act of wrapping Eren's bandages eased some of the tension. Levi ran his thumb along the smooth expanse of the bandages, explaining with a delicate murmur, "Gathering feathers is exactly that.  _Gathering_. You don't pluck the poor beasts. The point of it is to explore. To enjoy the forest."

Those eyes graced him once more, meeting his again with a spark of humor as Eren weakly laughed, "It  _is_  a lovely forest. . . ."

Levi snorted. "It's  _still_  lovely after this? You're either stupid or a masochist."

Light chased away the shadows of shame when Eren smiled widely, laughing so breathtakingly freely, "Don't you mock me!"

It was almost divine, hearing Eren's laugh, seeing the vigor in his eyes in the light, the flame that made his irises burn as bright as the shining finish of a polished jade. He stayed quiet, enraptured by the display, so pitifully weak to his smile, his vehement voice, his stunningly childlike, care-free nature that was dangerously contagious. It made Levi embarrassingly unaware, in a way that had him leaning forward, grasping Eren's wrist, yearning in a way that made it painful to breathe.

Suddenly, the high of the moment fell, plummeting like an injured bird, and Levi realized that he hadn't let go. He immediately did, almost as if he had been burned. He might as well have been burned; flames erupted in the pit of his chest at the flash of hurt on Eren's face. The man before him was an open book, impossible to hide from anything, impossible to deceive anyone, and it hurt as much as it fascinated him.

Levi cleared his throat, reprimanding to the best of his ability, "Next time, don't be an ass to the birds. That'll only make them angry."

"Next time," Eren repeated. Hope shined on his countenance in a way that had Levi cursing vehemently to himself. The little shit even had the courage to offer hesitantly, "I don't suppose we could . . . ?"

Levi rose with the bowl of pink tinted water, growling lowly, "You're pitiful."

Eren called after him, "That isn't a no!"

Levi poured the water into the sink, watching it drain away into the abyss. He glanced over to where Eren sat, whose attention was no longer aimed towards him, but at his bandaged forearm. Eren ran his fingertips over the bandages and gingerly pressed them against the area where Levi's own had lingered. Something in Levi fluttered, a feeling so foreign, so blissfully light, like he was soaring, and if he looked down at his feet, he would see the world beneath him.

"No, I suppose it isn't."

* * *

Late into the afternoon, long after the fauna have awoken and the winds have rolled to a halt, the forest was lit a deep, rich green. There was no fog, not during the summer, when rain came regularly, but not as often as it did during the early months of the year. The white bark of the trees appeared a dull gray, their leaves a dark green that Levi had never seen before beyond his paint before it had been diluted in water.

Surprisingly, though, it was a green he now saw in more places than one; it was the strong green that burned a smoldering rim around Eren's irises. Light would poke through the crowns of the trees, peering within, too dim to give any real aid to the eye. But it did draw patterns along the leafy ground, swaying with each breeze, patterns that would sometimes brush over Eren. It took everything in Levi's being not to stare.

One thing that Levi did allow himself to stare at, however, was the child-like smile Eren wore as they explored. It came and went like the seasons, temperate, familiar but inevitably changing and morphing into something different, into something stronger, or something softer. And in this moment it was something stronger; Eren had returned to his side with a feather, announcing cheerfully, "I know this one! It belongs to your fat bird."

"My birds are not _fat_ ," Levi griped. "They're healthy."

He couldn't find it in himself to stay mildly perturbed at the insult, not when Eren presented a single feather so proudly to him, as if he found a glorious treasure. Eren had grown surprisingly comfortable around him; he didn't bother jumping out of reach as he usually would have when Levi snatched the feather away. He strayed away, just a few feet behind Levi, the rustling of leaves the only indication that he was  _real_ , that he was still there, that he was genuinely enjoying himself. It was worth leaving work early that day - given, he wouldn't have left willingly on his own, but Eren had hunted him down and dragged him away. Levi cursed himself for being too distracted by such an eager act to even grab his blueprints on the way out.

The rustling of leaves suddenly neared him, falling into a comfortable step right next to him as Eren asked, "What do you do with the feathers, anyway?"

Levi glanced over to Eren, whose countenance shone genuine wonder, and something in him ached. He turned back to the front, carefully stepping over a fallen log as he explained, "I craft things. Necklaces, usually. Jewelry, if I find the right stone. What the hell else would I do?"

"Oh." Those footsteps faltered a bit. "Do you make them for anyone?"

Levi could hear the hesitance in Eren's voice. His own pace slowed, enough to stand by Eren's side, and he responded, "For my mother, usually, though I haven't gone down to visit her in Massachusetts in awhile. I suppose I should. You can't trust a stupid ass carrier to deliver anything, unless it's a letter. Even then, they're all nosy fucks, and I'm not wasting money on wax."

Whatever tension that plagued Eren was whisked away like smoke dissipating in the air, high above their heads and far beyond the reach of their worries. A breeze rushed past, pushing against them, and Eren instinctively stepped closer to Levi. It was getting dark, darker than Levi was used to, and they turned back down an adjacent trail that would lead home. It was also getting colder than usual, and Levi could hear Eren sigh when another gust of wind pushed past them. He'd reach out and pull Eren close if he could do so with impunity, under the guise of a more innocent gesture.

Eventually, Eren mused aloud, "You know, I never do see you around the church."

A weight dropped down into Levi's stomach, cruel chills unrelated to the weather wracking down his spine. Despite the fact that there was no reproachful tone in Eren's voice, he still answered cautiously, "I find that attending church so early in the morning fucks with my schedule."

"Surely you don't start work at dawn." Silence dragged on painfully slowly, until Eren tentatively inquired, "You're tense. Do you not . . . believe. . . ?"

"It's not that." Levi held his breath, weighed his options, contemplated the consequences. He eventually gave up, finding it in himself to say, "I just don't agree with the church." He paused. The lack of response on Eren's end made it extremely difficult to even attempt looking back, to see what those eyes said that the other man physically could not. Almost as if desperate for a response, for something,  _anything_ , Levi admitted slowly, "I don't think it's as important as the world makes it out to be."

"But the Lord said -"

"Judge ye not," Levi interrupted with a cold snap. He abruptly stopped, the leaves crunching loudly beneath his boots, and just behind him, Eren skidded to a halt, nearly running right into him. "'Judge ye not,' He said," Levi continued, a bit gentler in his volume, but equally frigid in his tone, "and that applies to me, lack of presence in the church be damned."

Finally, he turned, and he looked up at Eren, up at the darkened face, the sharpened features. It would be ominous if it weren't for his eyes. They spoke the truth, the innocent, confusing truth that, although Eren had the right mind to hide, simply couldn't conceal. Even in the dim lighting, he could see Eren's expression - embarrassingly obvious, as usual, but it held no animosity, no suspicion, nothing but pure, painfully genuine curiosity. He stepped forward, and curiously enough, Eren didn't back away.

"What's so important in paying my hard earned money in order for Him to even catch a single word of my prayer? What's so important in groveling at a pew in order to make myself more divine?" Levi still held a deadpan, purely out of instinct, out of a painfully learned habit, but it was smoother, less guarded, less cautious. "I think it's bullshit. Isn't my God-given soul divine enough? Isn't following my God-given nature more righteous than anything?"

Levi didn't prompt Eren any further; he let the silence envelop them, almost suffocating them as the light dimmed further and the evening grew colder. Finally, Eren whispered, "You could go to jail for things like that."

 _Of course._  Levi let out a laugh, brief and venomous as he spat, "Yes, right, because God forbid I don't worship Him the way everyone else wants me to." He let out a sigh, one heavier than it had the right to be, more enervated than  _he_  had the right to be. "Great men don't become great by doing what they can to avoid this bullshit legal system. And they make lasting changes. Changes that _matter_." It took him a moment to realize the ludicrousness of the words that had left his lips, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, growling lowly, "But then again, I'm a damned peasant. What do I know?"

If he had been younger, when he was impulsive and generally  _smarter_ concerning these things, he would have run. He would have sprinted the other way and never looked back, and by morning, he would be on his way to Massachusetts, where he had yet to be persecuted. It had been a situation so futile, so painstakingly difficult when he realized the mistakes he had made, but like a man already sitting in his cell waiting on death row, there was no point in running. No point in denying his sins, his mistakes, his one failure in life that could have been easily avoided.

Yet something in those eyes called to him. Something in that expression soothed him, and when Eren opened his mouth, it was something Levi wasn't entirely expecting; "A lot." Levi's brow furrowed. As if inquired, Eren promptly added, "A lot more than I ever did. A lot more than anyone might ever know, I think." He cleared his throat, letting out a weak laugh as he admitted softly, "For what it's worth, I . . . agree with you."

It was physically impossible for Levi to withhold any skepticism in his tone when he flatly stated, "You agree."

"I do, I think." Eren paused, only because they had reached the entrance. The light from the cabin acted as a beacon, and the trail leading back to the city was distant, uninviting, disappearing into the abyss of the road. They both stopped, a few moments passing by before Eren said, "I've never seen it that way. And, Levi . . ." He held his breath for a second. Upon releasing it, he suggested, "I think you shouldn't be so quiet. Thoughts like that can start a revolution, you know."

 _I'm no revolutionary,_  Levi wanted to say, but his lips would not move. He focused on the weight in his stomach instead, which had been receding, leaving him contemplating, wondering about the man before him. A deity, maybe, one that was foreign in aspects far beyond physical appearance. One that wouldn't damn him for honesty.

Levi finally found it in himself to say, "You should go."

It had taken strength to say, leaving him feeling winded, lightheaded, but it came out robust enough. So much that Eren faltered, his demeanor suddenly demure and meek. He made a motion to go, his heel rising, but he abruptly stopped, taking a moment to muster his strength before he clumsily blurted out, "Will I be seeing you again?"

Normally, Levi would say no. Normally, he would kick Eren out, curse his name and demand he stay away for as long as he lived, but he couldn't find it in himself to do it now. It wasn't out of fear of any sort - if anything, it was trust that made him say, "Find a damn good excuse and  _maybe_  I won't run you off our land."

Eren smiled, brighter than the light that radiated from the cabin, warmer than any fire Levi had ever started, and it left him yearning for more.


End file.
